


Calm in the Face of the Storm

by 23Murasaki



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Mage Rebellion, Scout Harding is a babe, there isn't nearly enough fic about the tranquil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 10:03:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4783277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/23Murasaki/pseuds/23Murasaki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lace Harding looks for a group of missing apprentices in the Hinterlands after the Circles fall. It's a dangerous place, but luckily this particular group has some unexpected protectors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calm in the Face of the Storm

Lace Harding chewed on her lip as she examined the maps of the Hinterlands before her. There was plenty of talk of rebel mages and renegade templars, their activity marked with pins and weights in various colors, but the reports were distressingly incomplete. More often than not, she and her new associates found corpses, not rebels, and there was still no word about what had become of the apprentices in the many fallen circles. People only spoke of combatants, and Lace did not qualify frightened children as combatants, though she was sure a lot of people did. There had been one report of mage children, but it had been entirely too vague: a pack of young mages in hooded cloaks, escorted by a similarly dressed swordsman and a mage who burned the skin off of his enemies, both of whom were either elves, Tevinter spies, members of the Inquisition, rebels, Chantry members, or Wilders, depending on who told the story. The group had been sighted once, and Lace had seen the burned bodies of the templars who had tried to intercept them. The memory of the smell still lingered.  
  
That sighting was marked by a green stone on the map, and it was the current cause for her concern. Orders had come from Sister Nightingale insisting that any noncombatants who were in danger be evacuated, under the flag of the Inquisition, and mage children certainly counted under that description, especially given Sister Nightingale’s rather liberal stance on mage rights, but no one had seen the children since the marked time, or at least, seen them and lived to tell the tale. The acrid smell of their guardian’s magic lingered around a fair few templar corpses, surrounding the area. She would have to tread carefully, but at least she could be fairly certain the children weren’t being smuggled to Tevinter.  
  
—————-  
  
The Hinterlands were something of a labyrinth, even to those who knew the terrain, and Lace was starting to think she and the other scouts would walk themselves dizzy before finding anything more than trees, rocks, and hills. No sooner had she thought that then a familiar, acrid smell filled the air and the ground in front of her erupted in smoke and hissing. Lace leapt back, glad for her reflexes, and shoved two of her fellows back as well, only to feel a sharp gust of wind the sort that came close to cutting. A cloaked figure stood on the path behind them, a slender sword etched with lyrium runes held in a practiced grip. Lace thought it was a woman under that cloak, standing steadily and waiting to attack with the enchanted blade, but she could not make out a face. Now where was the other one, the mage…? There, balanced atop a rocky outcropping, clutching a bag to his chest. No staff. That was odd; even blood mages needed some way to focus their power, didn’t they? Either this was a very powerful and oddly trained mage, or no mage at all. The swordsman took a step forward.  
  
“Identify yourselves,” she ordered curtly. Her voice was clear, but carried a trace of a Marcher’s accent. Was she in charge? Lace shot another worried look at the presumed mage on the outcropping. He seemed to be less willing to fight, but if the reports were anything to go by, he was quite alright with killing, more so than the woman.  
  
“I am Lace Harding, and we are scouts of the Inquisition,” she said, trying to keep her voice as level as the other woman kept hers. “We are looking for a group of apprentice mages who were last seen traveling through here. The Inquisition wishes to offer them sanctuary.”  
  
“The circles have fallen,” said the hooded woman flatly. “Has the Inquisition rebuilt them?”  
  
“No,” Lace admitted. “Sister Nightingale wishes only to offer a safe haven for the children.”  
  
“Sister Nightingale?” asked the man carefully. “That woman was referred to by other names in the past.” He did not seem like the type to have known Lace’s boss in her past lives, but she knew as well as any that people changed.  
  
“Yes, she was called Leliana,” she confirmed. “Do you know of her? One can have faith in her word. If you mean to protect those kids, you're on the same side as she is.”  
  
“Unlikely,” said the hooded woman flatly. “I know not of your Inquisition, but Chantry sisters rarely mean to do anything except put mages in circles or be rid of them. These children would prefer to neither die nor be made tranquil.”  
  
“… The name is familiar,” demurred the man suddenly. “She was a bard, and she traveled with the Hero of Ferelden.” Lace nodded confirmation, and to her surprise the man let his bag drop to his side. “If she sent you, she likely sent paperwork that would allow the apprentices to travel unharmed. May I see it, please?”  
  
“Owain,” the woman said. “It is possible that these people are lying.”  
  
“That is why I want to see the forms provided by Sister Leliana the Nightingale,” replied Owain. Throughout the entire exchange, their voices had remained flat and calm. Lace took another look at the rune-marked blade and thought to herself that calm was the incorrect word. Tranquil. These two were tranquil. She fumbled for the papers and handed them to Owain when he climbed off of his high ground, and he pushed back his hood to read them more easily. The sunburst brand on his head was faded but visible, and his face remained blank as he handed her back the papers.  
  
“These seem to be in order. Elsa, do you prefer to continue the patrol without me or to come back to our hiding place?” With the hood now around his shoulders, he looked very much like he belonged to a circle, pale and pasty, as if he had never felt the sun on his skin, and of a vaguely indeterminate age between thirty and fifty. Elsa, now with her hood down as well, looked younger, though Lace could not really tell. People had laugh lines and wrinkles from expressions, but the blank faces of tranquil mages more no such marks. Elsa’s face bore a scar, though, twisted and red down her jawline and right cheek. She had probably seen more of the world than her partner.  
  
“I would prefer to accompany you,” she said. “Especially as it would appear we are moving hiding spots.” And she suited action to word, stepping up beside Owain. “Please follow us. We will take you to those whom you seek.”  
  
—————  
  
And that was how she managed to smuggle twenty seven frightened magelings and three tranquil – because Owain and Elsa had a third partner in their venture, a Fereldan girl who could not have been much older than the apprentices to whom she was tending and who introduced herself as Sara – out of the Hinterlands and into the care of Sister Nightingale’s network of spies. Elsa and Owain took out a bear along the way, with a well-timed combination of swordplay and vials of the sharp-scented acid that Owain seemed fond of. If tranquil could be fond of things. Lace wasn’t sure. When prompted, he was willing enough to explain how to craft bombs of various sorts.  
  
“Acid works most efficiently for the given cost,” he said quietly. “And when you make it potent, they do not have the chance to suffer much. I prefer it when no one suffers.”  
  
“Well, I’m sure we can provide you with better materials,” Lace replied, wondering if recruiting this lot was even possible, given the circumstances. Sister Nightingale would probably approve, though.  
  
“You mean, that would be possible were I to serve as an agent of the Inquisition?” Owain clarified, and she nodded. “I would prefer that, yes. It is likely that Elsa would accept a similar offer. She prefers to take direction, and not to wander.”  
  
“I understand that,” said Lace, because she did, though maybe not the same way a tranquil did. Order and organization were good things, and Sister Nightingale championed both, albeit in a way that clashed with most established ideas. Owain nodded and turned away.  
  
“All of this is unfamiliar,” he said slowly. “I would prefer it were the Inquisition to put everything back as it was, if that is possible.”  
  
“We’d like it better than it was,” said Lace, and the tranquil gave a careful nod.  
  
“Yes. It is preferable for things to be better rather than worse,” he agreed. “Thank you for your time.”

**Author's Note:**

> Owain was my favorite part of the mage origin in Origins and I am sad that he never happened again. That's my only excuse.


End file.
